


One Step Closer

by ramee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, F/M, louis/you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramee/pseuds/ramee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, even with a bald head and blue eyes that maybe didn't shine so brightly after a particularly brutal session of chemo. But even with a tumor threatening to infringe on his brain, his eyes still crinkled when he smiled and he still had sarcastic comments to make. Even with brain cancer, Louis was your Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I posted this a while back on tumblr and now I'm posting it here. I hope you enjoy!

This is taking too long.

That’s all you can think as soon as hour seven rolls around, and you’re not thinking it in an impatient, kid-on-a-road-trip sort of way. It actually is taking too long. Louis has been in surgery for five hours and it wasn’t supposed to take any longer than five. Five and a half at the most.

You were running out of nails to gnaw at and you’d received dozens of annoyed glares from the other people in the hospital waiting room because you’d been tapping your fingers on the table beside you so aggressively. You’d brought many things with you to pass the time—the five hours that this was supposed to take. But you’d lost interest in the magazines and the music at around hour six, when you started to get the ache in your stomach that meant something had gone horribly wrong.

When six and a half hours rolled around, you’d expected that a nurse would come out and tell you what was taking so long. You’d expected to hear that everything was fine, that they’d miscalculated the time or something and that everything was okay and he’d be out soon. But then seven hours rolled around and you hadn’t heard anything from anyone and didn’t think you’d ever been more worried.

The operation had been in the works for months now—new technology that could possibly remove the tumor that had always been far too close to Louis’s brain. You’d been hesitant, sure. There was a chance that his brain could be damaged in the removal process, considering that the tumor was basically resting right up against it. But the two of you, you and Louis, had spoken to countless specialists and surgeons and it was determined that the surgery should definitely take place.

But now you weren’t so sure, because it had been seven hours and four minutes and you couldn’t ignore the feeling in your stomach that something was wrong. You tried pacing, you tried eating, you tried tracking down nurses who could possibly tell you what the hell was taking so long, but nothing worked. You were still trapped in this stuffy little waiting room that felt more and more like it was closing in on you with every minute that passed.

You were alone, too, which made the wait entirely more difficult. Louis’s family was supposed to be here but their flight had been canceled last night and they had to take one this morning, one that took off as soon as Louis went into surgery. They didn’t get to see him before he went in and they were none too happy about that. You assumed they were on their way, and you could only assume because you hadn’t bothered to check your phone since hour five.

Louis had been diagnosed with brain cancer two years ago, at the tender age of eighteen, and exactly four weeks to date before you met him. He was at a cafe with friends, the very cafe you’d been studying in, and he’d asked to borrow a packet of sugar from your table. He later told you that it was only an excuse to talk to you. You’d known that from the moment he approached you, but you pretended otherwise.

He didn’t tell you about his cancer for a whole month. At the time it didn’t seem to long, it seemed like time was passing entirely too quickly. But looking back on it now, you wished you’d known sooner. You wished you’d started living each day with him like it were his last a lot earlier on.

He would’ve waited longer to tell you, he told you during one late night talk after a particularly rough session of chemo about a year later. He didn’t want you to know, didn’t want you looking at him differently. But he’d had a horrible migraine, one where he couldn’t even open his eyes, and he didn’t want to lie about why he had to cancel your plans. So he’d come clean and told you that he’d known for two months and that he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d survive. And you cried and held him and told him that you loved him. You’d known him for exactly thirty-two days.

He didn’t say it back that night. He didn’t have to. He said it months later, when his hair started falling out, and you kissed every inch of his newly-smooth head whispered soothing things in his ear as tears silently slipped down his pale cheeks.

“I love you, you know that?” he whispered, breathing though his tears. He was upset because waking up with his brown locks scattering his pillow and no longer attached to his head meant that this was real and that it was actually happening to him. “I love you so fucking much.”

You smiled but not too much because this whole situation was entirely too sad for any sort of real joy. “I love you too, Lou. I really, really love you.”

Neither of you stopped saying it from that day on, because Louis was a pessimist and he was stubborn and he refused to believe that he might survive this, so he wanted you to know how much you meant to him before he died. You, on the other hand, needed him to know that he wasn’t alone in this and that you would, always, always be there holding his hand through chemo and through bad news and through the headaches and the seizures and every other shitty thing that came along with this goddamn disease.

So here you were, exhausted and stressed and terrified, curled up in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room at the hospital. You were about ready to have a severe mental breakdown, but finally, a familiar nurse emerged from the hallway that Louis had disappeared down seven hours and twenty-eight minutes ago.

You shot up from your chair and rushed over to her, not giving her a moment to speak before you bombarded her with questions of how is Louis and when do I get to see him and is he okay and what the hell is taking so long.

“Unexpected complications arose with Louis’s surgery. Nothing too problematic, just a few things that caused a longer procedure. I apologize that we didn’t let you know sooner.”

“So he’s okay?” you say hopefully, because hope is all you have.

“He’s resting now. The tumor is completely removed, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. He’s not cancer-free quite yet, far from it, but we’re one step closer.”

You sigh in relief because Louis is alive and he no longer has an unwanted intruder attacking his brain. “When can I see him?”

“The doctors won’t wake him up for several more hours. He’s just had a very intensive surgery very close to his brain and he needs to be unconscious for a while so as not to cause any further damage with too much brain activity. You might be able to see him in an hour or two, but he won’t be awake.”

You nod, thanking her quickly before returning to your chair and covering your face with your hands. He’s okay, he’s fine, Louis is okay. You keep repeating it to yourself as you pull out your phone and check your messages. Seven new text messages from Louis’s mother, the last of which being, In the cab on the way to the hospital. Be there in ten.

That was sent only two minutes ago so you figure you’ll call her, letting her know that everything went fairly well.

“Is he okay?” Jay asks after the phone rings only once.

“He’s alright,” you answer. “I just talked to a nurse. They ran into some unexpected complications but nothing too serious. The tumor is gone. He’s resting now and he won’t be awake for a few hours.”

“Oh, thank God,” she says. You can actually hear the weight being lifted off of her shoulders. “We’ll be there in a few minutes, love. How are you doing?”

“Better, now, now that I know he’s okay,” you say honestly. “You guys don’t have to come here. Why don’t you go to your hotel and get some rest? I’ll call you when he wakes up.”

“No, no, we’ll be right there,” Jay dismisses immediately. “We’ll wait with you. You’ve been alone for, what, seven hours? I can only imagine how horrible it must’ve been to be alone during this. We’re on our way, okay?”

“Okay.” You hang up and return to tapping your fingers, because even though you know he’s okay, you won’t know he’s okay until you see the rise and fall of his chest and the fluttering of his eyelids.

Jay, Mark and the girls arrive a few minutes later, Louis’s mother immediately embracing you after pulling you out of your chair. You get a kiss on the cheek from Mark and hugs from the girls, because you’ve always been an extension of the family. As Mark once put it, Louis’s girl was their girl.

“He never had to tell me you’d be the one,” Jay had told you only a couple months ago, after Louis had shooed you both from the room during chemo. “I knew how much he loved you from the first time he said your name.”

The five of you did your best to pass the time in the waiting room. Mostly for the girls’ sake, because they didn’t need to worry about Louis. So you played I Spy and a bunch of other random games to make the wait a little more bearable.

Finally, after about two hours of worried sighs and faked smiles, the familiar nurse came back into the waiting room and approached you all.

"Louis isn’t awake yet," she said, and you sighed internally. You knew he wouldn’t be, but you still clung to the hope that you’d walk into his hospital room and his blue eyes would be greeting you. “but you may see him if you’d like. No more than two at a time, please."

Jay looked at you, nodding her head toward the nurse. “You go, poppet. You’re the one that’s been here all day by yourself."

You nod and stand up, not in the mood to argue. You follow the nurse down the maze that is the oncology wing until you reach a dark room at the end of the hall with TOMLINSON written on a strip of paper taped to the door.

You enter the room quietly, so as not to wake him, even though you know he’s too far under to be roused by any sort of noise. He looks peaceful, lying there, despite his slightly ghastly appearance. There are bags under his eyes and his skin is clammy and pale. There’s a bandage wrapped several times around his head, and you can only imagine what the stitching now patterned on his scalp might look like.

You pull up a chair beside the bed and slip your fingers between his, squeezing his limp hand. You pretend that you’re not imagining him squeezing yours back.

He looks different like this, so vulnerable and small. Totally unlike the Louis you know. The loud, rambunctious Louis who’d never pass up the opportunity for a joke. The one who doesn’t say no to a challenge when he really, really should and the one who sometimes ends up with broken bones and little black stitches after a stunt with a particularly bad outcome.

But now he looks fragile, like one too-rough touch would shatter him to pieces. His eyebrows are furrowed together and you lean forward to kiss the crease there. You want to kiss away every worry he’s ever had, all the pain he’s ever felt, all of the tears and the anger and the wondering why me.

He’s sleeping but he isn’t sprawled out across the bed, which is strange. He’s so still, almost too still. Usually he’d be tossing and turning and throwing the covers around, limbs flying in every direction and essentially driving you crazy. But now lies on his back, arms lying at his sides peacefully. Somehow, the stillness bothers you more than when he’s flailing around all night.

You sit and stare at him for a while, waiting for him to open his eyes and give you the smile that you fell in love with even though you know it won’t happen. After about half an hour of you running your fingers up and down his arm, you step out of the room and allow his family to sit with him.

Another two hours pass. Slowly. You try your best to smile and be your normal, playful self for the girls’ sake, but it’s too hard to concentrate on having a good time when the love of your life is lying unconscious down the hall.

But eventually a nurse comes in and tells you that they’ve woken Louis and he’s asking for you. You barely give her a chance to finish her sentence before you bolt to his room.

He’s sitting up now and you enter just as another nurse is leaving. There are dark circles under his eyes and he gives you a faint smile as he runs his fingers over where the IV is stuck into his arm. He’s always hated needles.

"Hey, Lou," you say quietly, smiling. He’s breathing and that means you can breathe. “How are you feeling?"

"My head feels lighter. Is that weird?" he asks, smirking. You giggle and walk toward him, pulling up your chair beside the bed again.

"Well, there’s not a tumor in there anymore," you say. You intertwine your fingers with his and squeeze, and this time he squeezes back and you’ve missed this. It feels like it’s been weeks since you’d been holding hands over the gearshift on the way to the hospital. That was this morning.

"That’s good," he says. “Not having a tumor. Might as well, though, because my head still hurts."

"Sorry, babe. They gave you painkillers, didn’t they?"

"Yeah, but there’s only so much meds will do when people were just poking around in your skull." He smiles your favorite smile and your heart swells.

"Took quite a long time, yeah? Nurse said they ran into complications," he continues.

"Only a few hours more than expected. Not a big deal," you assure him.

"You spent those hours worrying about me, didn’t you?" He doesn’t give you time to answer. “What did I tell you about worrying? Gives you wrinkles." He presses his thumb between your eyebrows as if trying to smooth out the stress lines.

"Wrinkles are the least of my concerns, Lou. Not while you’re having brain surgery."

"Well, I’m tumor-free now, so stop frowning."

"I’m not frowning," you mumble and you try to soften your expression, just in case.

He just chuckles, shaking his head at you. He’d always told you that you worry too much and you always tell him that you have every reason in the world to worry but he just laughs and kisses your forehead and calls you crazy.

"You’re crazy, you know that?" he whispered into your hair one night after you’d told him how afraid you were of losing him. “My crazy girl. I’m not going anywhere, yeah? I’m here as long as you want me."

"I’ll always want you," you said back quietly.

"Then I guess we’re in good shape. Forever, okay?"

"Yeah. Forever sounds good."

Now he’s rubbing at his temple absentmindedly and your heart breaks a little because you hate seeing him in pain. “Louis, honey, let me find a nurse so she can give you more painkillers."

"I’ve had worse, [Y/N]. I’ll live. Promise."

And he didn’t give you the smirk that he usually did after being sarcastic with you. Maybe it was because this was more than just a promise that he’d be fine without his dosage being increased. It was a promise that he’d keep fighting, that no matter what this horrible disease decided to throw at him, he’d live because leaving you wasn’t something he’d ever want to do.

He left the hospital a few days letter on strict orders of bed rest and you happily took care of him, bringing him trays of food and putting in a new DVD after whatever movie he’d been watching ended. You made him take his medicine that he hated taking and you kissed him a little because, as he loved to argue, I wanna kiss you like I’ll die tomorrow. And you’d punch his arm because don’t you dare joke about that Louis Tomlinson and he’d scold you because punching a cancer patient? Really? but you’d end up kissing him anyway, and you’d let him wrap his incredibly strong arms around you and hold you against his chest and you’d think I never want to lose this.

He relapsed after six months of happiness and neither of you could be surprised because you’d both been happy, too happy, and you’d known that the other shoe would eventually drop. It took him another year to beat his cancer again, and that meant another year of waiting rooms and bad news and crying and whispers of I’m not going anywhere, love. We’ll be fine. I’m always gonna be right here and you wanted to believe him because he was strong, but you knew that cancer was stronger.

It went away though, after he spent a year in chemo and taking medication and once again mourning the loss of his precious hair that had finally started to grow back. You both cried when they told you that his cancer was gone, and you went home and kissed his head over and over and over again and he kissed you and didn’t stop saying “I told you so" for weeks.

So he lived, just like he’d promised, and you to keep your Louis for a very, very long time and you didn’t go a day for the rest of your lives without kissing the scar over his ear and thanking whoever the hell was up their controlling your fate for saving everything that had ever meant anything to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always aprreciated. My tumblr is morelou.tumblr.com


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